Beneath the Veneer
by ARoseWithThorns
Summary: Sometimes, there is more to a person than an evil smirk and throwaway insult. Sometimes, the person who is supposed to hate you the most may be the one who watches you the most. Sometimes, things aren't always what they seem Beneath the Veneer. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This is fan fiction and all rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

_**December 16, 1990**_

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**Lucius Malfoy's private study**_

A knock.

"You may enter."

A swirling, silver mist quickly shone, then evaporated in forms of smoky snakes before the heavy, mahogany door opened of its own accord. A good-looking, pale, blonde boy of about eleven with aristocratic features and light, grey eyes purposefully strode into the room. He wore a charcoal-grey cashmere sweater and his black school uniform trousers, expensive shoes clacking along the marble flooring as he approached his father.

Lucius Malfoy smirked at his son and swirled the brandy in his large glass. Though he had not seen The Boy in well over three months, he made no move to rise from his high, wing-backed arm chair. His wife, however, left her position from standing by his side the moment The Boy walked in.

"Draco!" She breathed, rushing towards him and bending down to hug him to her. For a moment, The Boy's face fell entirely blissful as it rested against his mother's shoulder, and Lucius could see his true joy. As Narcissa began chattering about how much she'd missed her little Draco, The Boy met Lucius' penetrating gaze. Instantly his face hardened with arrogance, and he shrugged his mother off of him. Lucius smirked again. Good. Very good.

He let his wife molly coddle Draco for a minute or two, until she put an arm around his shoulder and steered him towards Lucius' armchair, an eyebrow arched as he lifted his chin and looked down at the boy, who had grown since the last time he had seen him. Draco raised his own chin and clasped his young hands behind his back, obviously ready for inspection.

"Lucius, isn't it wonderful?" Narcissa babbled. "Draco's back with us for Exodus!"

Lucius spared his wife a fleeting glance. Whenever he held a brandy, she always spoke to him in childlike tones, as though he were incoherent. "Come here, son." He gestured with a quick flick inward of a long finger, as if he couldn't be bothered to hold out his arms. Draco hesitantly took a few steps closer, still mustering up that false bravado that would hopefully mature into nerve one day. "Let me get a good look at you. Turn around."

Draco did as commanded, sporting an evil smirk on his young face as he revolved on the spot. He appeared proud to be back from his first three months at the same wizarding school his father had attended. "Well, well, Draco. You've grown," Lucius dipped his head to the side in acknowledgement. "And I can see in your eyes that you've learned quite a bit during your fresh time at Hogwarts, hmm?"

Draco gulped dryly, and nodded. "Y-yes, sir. Quite a bit."

"Hmm." Lucius played up the silence between them, probing his son's limpid eyes. Still so young, so undiluted from the world. He would have to work on changing that, and soon. Lucius sipped his brandy, never taking his eyes off the boy. "I received your owl at the start of the year, Draco, regarding your efforts with Harry Potter."

The Boy suddenly looked fearful. "I tried, Father, just like you told me to … I did, but the bastard-"

"Draco!" Narcissa gasped. Lucius chuckled.

"Forgive me, mother. He wouldn't even shake my hand when I offered it to him."

Lucius had expected this from the beginning, but he feigned extreme offense and snarled, "How dare he – you, a Malfoy? We're wizarding royalty. Mark me well, son, the day will come when Harry Potter will be begging _you_ for your hand, and you'll have the satisfaction of repaying his rudeness, tenfold."

Draco's face darkened with mirth, and he nodded. From beside The Boy, Narcissa had clammed up, looking slightly paler than usual, which was a feat as the woman's pampered skin was the shade of a delicate cream.

Lucius set aside his Brandy on an adjacent side table, and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Now, Draco, tell me all about your classmates. Are you associating with the right sort of wizards? Are there any witches who've caught your eye?"

"Lucius! Oh, honestly," Narcissa shook her head condemningly.

"What?" he chuckled.

She leaned forward, as though Draco were not in the room. "He's only eleven, dear." She chastised.

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. "Precisely. He's a handsome, little wizard with the irresistible Malfoy flair and bloodline. They're probably all lined up, eh son?"

Draco looked initially disgusted at the concept of girls for a brief moment. A shocking thought entered Lucius' mind, but he had to remind himself The Boy was only eleven.

"Well, Pansy Parkinson is sorta-"

Lucius threw his wife a knowing glance, "Eh? The Parkinson's. Great stock there-" His wife scowled at him.

"But she's more like Crabbe and Goyle, I don't really like her _that_ way…" At the sight of his father's eyebrows raising in question, Draco looked pressed to come up with something entertaining. "But there _is_ this other witch… uh," Draco scratched behind his ear, color actually flooding his cheeks for a moment. "N-nevermind."

Lucius' face spread into a huge grin. His son was a chip off the old block. "Ho, ho," he chortled. "Do tell, my boy. Someone's caught your eye, yes? Who is it?"

Draco looked embarassed for a brief moment, then he donned on the mask of boredom as he had been brought up to do when discussing anything personal. "It's just this witch, but she's in a different house."

Lucius rubbed his stubble with a few fingers. "Ah, a Ravenclaw then?"

"No, Sir."

"Please don't tell me it's a Hufflepuff."

"Oh, hell no!"

"Draco!"

"Sorry mother." Draco glanced down at the floor. "She's in Gryffindor." At this, his mother visibly wrinkled her perfect, pointed nose in distaste. "But she's bright, not just pretty!" The Boy hastily added. "She's – she's actually the brightest one in the whole class. Gets grades like I do," he threw in for good measurement, glancing quickly to Narcissa. This seemed to slightly appease her.

"Well now," Lucius lowered his voice, calmed by the effects of the brandy, "I'll not hold that against her. Fess up now, Draco. Who is this young lioness that's captured your attention?"

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek, obviously not wanting to divulge his crush. "Name's Hermione Granger."

"_Hermione_," Lucius purred, letting the syllables roll of his eloquent tongue, making the name sound like a serenade. Draco straightened up a bit eagerly at hearing the name spoken so reverently.

"I don't know much about her," he confessed, "Just that she likes to raise her hand a lot in class. Reads a lot, spends a lot of time in the library."

"You'll do well to go after a smart young witch, Draco," his mother advised. "So long as she's… socially acceptable."

Draco nodded, "She is, mother, she's the smartest witch there."

Lucius stifled a grin, settling instead for the Malfoy trademark smirk. Whether this _Hermione_ was the 'smartest witch there' or not didn't matter. One thing, however, _did_. "We'll have to find out her bloodlines," he contemplated, frowning intelligently as he sat back. "Hermione, Hermione…" he turned his head to his wife. "Isn't that Greek, my love?"

"Yes, I believe so. The daughter of Athena or something close, if I'm not mistaken. I'll have to look it up. Beautiful name, though." She gave Draco an approving glance, and Lucius knew it had nothing to do with the young witch, but simply that she was glad to have her little wizard back in the Manor.

Lucius was still mulling it over. "Granger… Granger… I know of the Durangers, Pure Bloods from across the channel… perhaps they're related. I'll have to look into it."

"Yes, Father," Draco chorused. He afforded The Boy a smile that bordered on slight kindness.

"Never you mind, go run along, I believe that dimwitted Dobby has something for you in the kitchens. I'll see you down there," he motioned with his hand for Draco to run off, and without another word, Draco turned on his heel and strutted out of the room. Lucius gave his wife a once-over, then patted his knee. She obediently sat upon it, stroking his long, blonde hair with a perfectly-manicured hand. "Hermione Granger, eh?" He smiled at Narcissa.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh honestly, Lucius, I'm sure it's just a young, childlike fascination. Don't go reading more into it than is there, darling."

Lucius traced his fingers along the enchanted, freshwater pearls along his wife's neck. "Yes, well, that childlike fascination may bloom into an adolescent obsession, and who knows? We may be discussing the future procreator of the Malfoy lineage. I _have_ to investigate. As I recall, Nott has connections with the records at the Ministry. I may be able to dig up her pedigree charts."

"Fine, if you must…" Narcissa leaned into his neck. "But for now, let us celebrate. Draco is home!"

"Indeed."

With a flick of the hand, the heavy door to his private study closed and locked with a silent charm, and he took her right there on the chair.

_**January 17, 1991**_

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**Malfoy Dining Hall**_

Philip Nott was a bull of a wizard. He stood as tall as Lucius and had a muscular, commanding frame. "The dinner is delicious, Lady Malfoy," he complimented as he cut into the last of his Filet Mignon. "Your house elves are better than any I've seen when it comes to the food."

Narcissa, done up to the nines, smiled graciously. "Why, thank you Mr. Nott. We Malfoys only enslave the best."

The man turned to Lucius, who had been watching him all evening. "Now, when did young Draco go back to school?"

Lucius paused with a wine goblet on its way to his mouth. "Two Mondays ago, I believe. Though so much has happened between now and then, time seems a blur." The men chuckled. Lucius knew the man had what he wanted and had been after all evening, and now was the opportune time to find out. "But what of the favor I asked you a fortnight ago? Concerning one Hermione Granger?"

Nott put his fork down, looking hesitantly around the table to the congregation of other former Death Eaters, who were listening intently. "Erm, perhaps I could divulge my findings in private?"

Lucius slapped the table and laughed. "Nonsense, what one cannot share in the presence of my comrades, one cannot share in my study. Now out with it, Nott, what have you found?"

The man's countenance fell slightly as he put a hand in the pockets of his dinner dress robes, coming out with a scrolled piece of parchment. He sighed, and levitated it with his wand over to Lucius's outstretched hand. "Have a look for yourself. And don't say I didn't warn you." Lucius looked up in alarm as the man practically chugged down the rest of his wine, and looked miserably at the tabletop.

"What on earth are you t-" the breath left Lucius's body as he unscrolled the parchment, and branded across the top, in a red stamp, were the words, **MUGGLEBORN**. The entire room fell silent as he read the whole parchment from top to bottom, then once again. Finally, he took out his wand and sent the parchment flying at break neck speed into the hearth, where a roaring fire immediately consumed it. "You're sure?" He asked gravely down the table.

Nott affirmed with a grunt. "She's some kind of genius, they say. She's taken to all of her classes like a dragon to the night sky."

Lucius pounded his fist on the table so hard that it rattled everyone's dinner plates. "Blasphemy!" he roared. "My son… infatuated with a MUDBLOOD!" he screamed. Everyone present cowered at his rage. Narcissa actually had tears welling in her eyes. "And what the hell is a _dentist_?"

Nott cleared his throat, staring at the table as he spoke. "It's apparently some sort of mouth healer. They study and repair mouths without the use of magic."

"Absurd!" Lucius shouted. "Well, I'll put a stop to this at once."

Narcissa gently laid a hand on his arm. "Lucius, you mustn't interrupt Draco in his studies. He needs this year to forge alliances with those who'll be beneficial to the cause when the Dark Lord returns." She urged him with eyes that became silver with her tears.

Inwardly he was raging, but he took deep breaths. "Of course… of course. He'll be dealt with; _this_ will be dealt with when he returns. But for now, none of you will ever mention this to a living soul. Everyone look at me." Everyone did, but Narcissa. He had to give the old girl credit, she knew him down to the core. "_Obliviate_."

_**June 3, 1991**_

_**Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**_

_**Malfoy Stables**_

He heard Draco's quick run along the hay-strewn floor. "Father?"

"Here, my boy," Lucius said softly, turning to the corner where the object in his hands couldn't be seen. He heard Draco enter the large stall, where nothing but a stool sat in the middle of the pen.

"Mother said you wanted to see me after we got back from Hogwarts Express. Are we going to go for a ride?" He knew Draco was looking around, probably registering the lack of champion horses.

"No, Draco. There will be no riding today." He knew the graveness in his voice instilled fear in The Boy. Good. He needed to be afraid.

"Then w-what will we be doing?" He could hear Draco's voice shaking. "Are you upset with me over the Potter incident?" He asked quietly. Lucius let the object in his hands be seen at his side, and he heard Draco gasp. He turned around, and Draco's young face was bathed in fear at the sight of the Death Eater Mask hiding his father's nose, cheeks, and forehead. But for the mask, Lucius was merely wearing riding trousers, boots, a white linen shirt and black overvest. "What did I do?" Draco trembled. Lucius looked his son up and down through the mask, and saw a puddle of urine beginning to form at the frightened boy's feet.

"We need to talk…" Lucius took a step towards him, caressing the horsewhip. "About one _Hermione Granger_." Draco's eyes widened, then he looked honestly puzzled.

"What?"

"She's a mudblood." Draco balked at this, physically starting at the name.

"She – wha? A-are you sure?"

Lucius silently spelled the stool forward, indicating that Draco sit on it. "Indisputably, son. It's been a while since I whipped you. I do _try_ to refrain from corporeal punishment when necessary, but believe me when I say that _this is necessary_. Take off your shirt and sit, boy."

Draco seemed to be too much in shock at the revelation to realize what his father was about to do, but blindingly as he had been brainwashed to do, he obeyed, keeping his head low so that Lucius could only deduce that there were tears in his eyes as the first harsh lash fell down upon his back. The next ten minutes were a blur, but he was sure the one thing his son would remember were the words:

"_She's your inferior! If she so much as dares speak to you, you put her in your place! You call her a filthy little mudblood. What is she?"_

"_A filthy, little mudblood!"_

In the end, Lucius left him weeping, hunched over and in pain. He lowered his mask and merely paused on his way out the door. "I'm ever so glad we understand each other, Draco."

Draco looked up beneath his bangs, staring out at the retreating form of his father with hatred boiling like molten lava in his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**August 29, 1991**

**Flourish & Blotts Bookshop**

**Diagon Alley**

The ironic thing was, when his father pushed him aside before he could continue heckling the Weasel, in order to speak to Hermione Granger, Draco was more concerned about Lucius revealing his discovered crush to her, than any sort of public accostment on her muggleborn disposition in front of the wizarding community.

"Oh yes, I know all about you, and your _parents_…" As his father made verbal jabs at the little, muggleborn witch, Draco studied her intently. He'd been watching her above on an alcove balistraude on the second floor from the moment she'd entered the bookshop with young Potty and his entourage.

Since June, his father had carried out 'weekly installments' in order to ensure all feelings for Granger were virtually obliviated. He'd been whipped, hit, crucio'd, denied his favorite activities, and forced to continually repeat, "She's a filthy, little mudblood!" whenever the subject was brought up, be it in the sole presence of his father, or at the dining table. And of course his mother stood idly by, looking slightly uncomfortable, but not moving in the slightest to intercede on his behalf.

As much hatred as had formed in his heart over the whole disaster that was his first official crush, the moment he saw her entering, his eyes clamped and held on her. She had a healthy, tawny glow to her skin, and she was slightly taller. She was stil physcially a child, but aside from the annoying eagerness to constantly prove herself, she had an essence about her that was purely Granger, purely earnest and innocent and forthright. The enchanted lighting in the store that had been set up for Gilderoy Lockhart's soiree reflected in her large, brown eyes while she stood up to his father; something not even high ranking Death Eaters dared do. She was either completely ignorant of who she was talking to, or she just didn't care. If the latter, she had definitely been sorted into the right house. Brave and stupid. Draco wore a mask of aversion as he stood next to his father, noticing the way the Weasel stepped closer to Hermione, the Pothead flanking her other side.

Throughout his Second Year, Draco verbally absolved himself of Hermione Granger as his father had drilled in him to do, even going so far as to tell Crabbe and Goyle he hoped that she would be the next victim of the Basilisk, as he knew that both boys had become quite gossipy with the other Sytherins. They were quite girlish in that way.

He had owled his father straight away after he'd questioned her audacity at addressing him and called her a "filthy, little mudblood." At the time, he'd been too wrapped up in glee over Weasley spewing slugs to feel anything over the tears welling in Hermione's doelike eyes, but that night, with the curtains drawn around his bed, he lay frowning and recalled seeing a tear spill over her cheek as she turned away to help Weasley.

Right before Hermione had become petrified, Draco realized the clever witch had brewed Polyjuice Potion, something most fourth years struggled with. He knew he had to hate her. It was pure genetic protocol; she was inferior in every way, right? Or something? Still, he was continually impressed with her and amazed at her mature intellect. True, her hair had a life of its own and her teeth were rather large, but from the beginning he was drawn to her. Maybe it was just that he identified with the need to impress and prove ones-self, because that was how he had always felt with his father. It was a small consolidation of inward rebellion that he still harbored feelings for her, though he made sure she firmly believed he loathed her.

In addition to keeping up with her marks in classes, Draco immediately sought the recipe for Polyjuice, studying as much as he could. Some of it he didn't even understand as they hadn't taught about most of the ingredients yet, but he resolved to have a pot of Polyjuice on hand before Third Year began. The more and more he witnessed the comraderie of Potter, Weasley, and Granger, the stronger he felt the rift between what he wished could be and what he knew truly was. He fell into his role as the young Prince of Slytherin, throwing a smile once in a while to the witches of his house, plotting hexes and jinxes on Potter and Weasley. Privately, with the solidarity of Granger's attack, a strong fear invaded his mind that everything his father had foretold about the Dark Lord's return would come to fruition.

Potter saved the day again, and the Malfoys summered in Rome that year.

**October 8, 1993**

**Hogwarts**

**Dining Hall**

It had been a blissful year since Draco had been punished. He'd done a well enough job convincing his father that the Mudblood was nothing but animal fodder in his book, and since his first summer, his father hadn't hit him once. Draco knew how to play the game by now. Plot, connive, back talk the Trio, please Father. The rise of the Third Year saw him earning lots of solicited attention from the young ladies of Hogwarts, most succinctly, Pansy Parkinson. Pansy was all right in a Slytherin, Death Eater bride in training kind of a way, but she couldn't hold a candle to Hermione, though he would never divulge this in a million years.

Granger had begun feeling out, he noticed when he had run into them on the train. Young apples were well hidden beneath her casual top before they had all changed, but he noticed they were there. She had grown again. She was still short compared to his tall and lanky frame, but Draco couldn't help notice the feminine curves that created ridges along her robes when she would walk nearby or in front of his posse.

He'd noticed a few weeks ago that they shared almost the same birthday; she turned fourteen with a small pile of presents given to her over breakfast at the Gryffindor table. Pansy had sneered in his ear, "Ah, the Mudblood's celebrating one of her few remaining years, eh?" Draco was more focused on seeing her reaction to the presents Potter and Weasel gave her, but he smirked and nodded, looking back to his toast. There was a charged energy running through the Slytherin housemates these days with the escape of the Dementors, and a lot of eyes were on Draco, as it was known his father had been one of the Dark Lord's right wizards. He admittedly lived it up, and most prominently with the ladies. Pansy kept her talons in him like the bird of prey that she was, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until she made her move. And when the time come, he would let her, as this would please his father. Meanwhile, he watched Granger.

**December 12, 1993**

**Just Outside Hogsmeade Village**

**About one mile away from the Shrieking Shack**

"Draco, where we goin'?" wailed Crabbe. Draco threw him a scathing look, didn't answer, and trudged on through the snow.

He'd seen Granger and Weasley sitting together on a bench in the village as he and the boys had been buying chocolate and things at Honeydukes, and when the two looked at each other, smiling and nodding, he followed them as they'd set off.

"Draco, I'm hungry," Goyle moaned. "Can't we go back? We only have an hour of our pass left. Let's go get some Butterbeer."

"Shut it, you oaf," Draco barked. "And keep up."

As they neared Granger and Weasley, Draco held up a finger to his lips to urge the other boys to be silent. He peered from behind a frosty Oak tree. They were standing quite close together, and Weasley kept glancing at Hermione, who looked cute in her wool hat and matching gloves.

"It's meant to be the most haunted building in all of Britain," she said softly. Draco's eyebrow lifted. He'd never heard her speak so gently. Then again, words were always heated on his part when speaking with her.

"Hee hee, are they on a little _date_?" Crabbe chortled behind him. Goyle joined in the laughter.

"Quiet!" Draco hissed, missing what the two lovebirds down at the fence said. He didn't like the way Weasley was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, and a decided rage flaired up inside him that hadn't ever been there before. "Come on," he spat, trudging down in plain sight. He smeared a smirk on his face to cover up his anger. "Well, well, well. What do we have here. You two shopping for your new _dream home_?" he drawled.

Weasley looked more than just annoyed, he almost looked… embarassed, as though he had been about to make a move when he told Draco weakly to shove off. Draco moved in for the verbal kill. Not bloody likely. He adjusted the labels on his expensive, Prussion black overcoat, mainly to show Hermione that he had things Weasel would never afford in a million years.

"Boys, I think it's time we teach Weaselbee how to respect his superiors."

Hermione scoffed, and stepped towards him. "I hope you don't mean you." Bingo. Draco rattled off the filthy little Mudblood line, giving a star performance when inwardly he was beginning to realize he didn't give a shite if someone was muggle born or not; if they could do magic they were a wizard or witch, period. But appearances, and all that.

**April 20, 1994**

**Hogwarts Castle**

**On a Hill Above Hagrid's Hut**

"Hermione, No!"

_Phwfft!_

Draco's head met with the boulder behind him, and for an infintismal second, he had the view of seeing the raw passion on her face as she stared him down after punching him, the wind blowing her crazy hair in all sorts of directions. It was the most displaced time and occasion for it to happen, but for the first time in his life, Draco felt the male part of him harden at the sight of her. He swallowed and covered his nose, staring at her for a moment as the boys hauled him off under the arms. When the boys took him to the toilet and he made them vow never to utter what happened to another living being, he told them to leave him. Looking in the mirror and repairing his bloody nose, after dashing a little water on it, he stared at himself, feeling his lower part still throbbing and pressing against his trousers.

"You're sick," he told himself. She had punched the shite of him, and he wanted her. His father would have his head if he knew. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, then stared at himself again, this time with slightly more conviction. "He'll never know," he whispered. "_She'll_ never know."

**A/N: Two Wow's, a "Continue?" and an OMG… thank you **_**very much**_** for the reviews! Please continue to review, it's a motivating factor! To avoid confusion, each chapter will be told from either Hermione or Draco's point of view from this chapter forward. It was necessary for the first chap. To have Lucius' perspective. There will be segments up until their 7****th**** year, and then it will go into its own direction, AU, but mostly in tandem with the events of the books and movies. Not Beta'd. Thanks! **


	3. Chapter 3

**June 7, 1994**

**The Granger Estate**

**Maidstone, Kent, England**

Hermione had always thought it strange that neither Harry, nor Ron expressed an interest in seeing where she lived. The general, unspoken rule of thumb between the three seemed to always be that the rallying point outside of school time was the Burrow. Always, unequivocably, without exception, the Burrow. There were no co-ed sleeping arrangements, no pressure to be in an area where the boys and girls had to change near the other. And that worked for them. Thus far, the boys seemed profoundly, sxly unaware and just precisely that, _boys_.

Notwithstanding, it still occurred to her every now and again that they missed a very important part about who she was, having never seen her house or her bedroom. Seventy-five percent of her school year was spent at Hogwarts, so they pretty much knew everything about her as a witch… yet as a young woman, it was a different story. Yet, that was the appeal of the security that lie in her friendship with Harry and Ron. She was safe from bullies like Draco Malfoy and his sidekicks, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber; she never had to worry about trivial nonsense such as romance or being hit on by her classmates, because they were all too intimidated by Harry to ask her out – and that left her free to worry about getting good grades and dedicating herself to her education as a witch. But as is always the case, there was so much more to Hermione, things that were well hidden and private. Many of them she wanted kept that way, but others she wouldn't mind so much if they knew about.

For one, she loved to dance, and she was good at it. She couldn't ride a broom to save her life, but from the age of five, her parents had enrolled her in ballet classes at the local King's Hill dance studio, and she had been dancing ballet in her past time ever since. It was the one talent, non-magical, that she was quite proud of. She stopped attending her regular lessons when she began her academics at Hogwarts, but usually during the summer she danced at the studio again, participating in a few recitals whenever her parents did not take them abroad.

There would be none of that this summer, though, as Ginny had given her a head's up that they had extra tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. For the first three summer weeks, Hermione settled herself back into the loving embrace of the safe haven created by her parents. Had Harry or Ron bothered to come see her, they would undoubtedly been surprised by how nice her house was. Both her parents did well in their family practice, which they'd always hoped she would enter one day. She lived in a Tudor, 19th Century home that had been converted for modern use long ago, on a private, enclosed estate that had a few acres and a lovely garden out back. Her parents made a decent living, but they portioned their generous income into their favorite causes, occasional DIY, and investing in Hermione's future. She had always felt blessed to have two parents who loved her, as she knew what Harry had gone through, and it could very well be his life she lived instead of the one she had now; which is why she never brought it up or acted any differently than the Weasleys or Harry himself.

For the first week, she slipped on summer dresses and lounged out back, laying on her favourite patchwork quilt beneath the old cherry blossom tree her parents had planted when pregnant with her. She ate apples and Aero mint chocolate as she read for pleasure for the first time in a year, reading a young adult muggle novel that had a little, light romance in it; something she wouldn't be caught dead doing in Harry or Ron's presence. Yet, she had to remind herself that she was indeed a girl. Having this "double life" as both a normal, young fourteen-year-old, and the "brightest witch of her age" was taxing, but fulfilling. In order to stay sane with using the Time-Turner last year and surviving on little to no sleep, she had implemented little restful moments of meditation, solitude, and emotional centering in order to get through it all. Being able to take candlelit baths again now that she was home really helped her tune in with her powers as a witch, and balance them with her daily habits as a teen. If she achieved Prefect status like she hoped to do in fifth year, she would be able to bathe all the time at school, something she looked forward to immensely.

Hermione wasn't foolish; she knew what was coming, that Voldemort would most likely return and Harry would have to fight him, but she had chosen her side from the moment she found him and Ron on the train.

Ron … relations between him and her for the better half of the last year were tumultuous at best. There was always a small cauldron brewing on the fire between them, but Ron was so far away from her emotional plane that he might as well be digging a hold underground. She stored him in the "Restricted Section" of her mind for now, holding onto the key that would someday unlock something beautiful.

One Wednesday, she paused while laying on her stomach and reading a funny moment in her book:

_Gillian drew back her hand and slapped Adam across the face. _

"_You horrible excuse for a human being! How dare you!"_

Hermione stifled a giggle that ended up becoming a snort. "Slapped? I would have knocked the guy out." She blushed, recalling how she had walloped Malfoy a good one but a few months ago. Her fist had hurt like hell afterwards, but it was so worth it to pay him back for all the crude, horrible comments he'd made to her over the years, and his malice in general. She giggled to herself, glad her parents were at work, and dove back into her book, her jaw dropping a little at what happened next.

_Adam grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her so hard her head fell back a bit. _

"_Damn you!" he growled, "You just never shut up and let others talk, do you? If you did, if you even got off your high horse for about five seconds, you would realize that I…" The strength of his hold let up, and something in his eyes changed; they went darker, deeper somehow._

"_That you… what?" She whispered._

_Adam shook his head, as if she could never understand the aggravation he was feeling, then he glanced at her lips. "Oh, the hell with it." In the next instant, his mouth was upon hers._

"No way!" Hermione yelled aloud. A robin perched in the tree overhead flew off, but she soon learned that it wasn't because of her screeching, it was because a large, snow-white owl was descending like a sunlit angel above her. The owl dropped a folded piece of parchment in her lap and landed on the quilt next to Hermione, hooting softly. "Hedwig!" She smiled, stroking the owl's beautiful feathers. She unfolded the parchment. "Well, whatever you have here from Harry has got to be a great lot better than this rubbish." Hermione slapped the book shut and tossed it aside, opening Harry's standard weekly letter. "Spare me. As if he was in love with her the whole time. I'm so _sure_…"

**Quidditch World Cup**

Honestly, she didn't know what all the fuss about Quidditch was. The men on the teams for theworld cup spent time flying around with a broom between their legs, chasing a Quaffle and a Snitch. It was questionable, barbaric, and… she had to admit some of the players looked pretty good up there. For all the big talking she did, she was secretly looking forward to watching the game as she traipsed up what seemed like the millionth bleacher with Harry and the Weasleys. She wished she'd worn something warmer, though, instead of a light top and jean jacket. Recently she'd taken to wearing clothes that flattered a beautiful figure she kept conservatively hidden. She could hear Harry's labored panting in front of her from the trek of the climb, but he didn't say a word against it, and she admired him for it. She wouldn't trade her friends for the world.

"Oy, Potter!"

Hermione turned around and looked down two levels, where Draco Malfoy stared up at not Harry, but her. A queer feeling washed over her, and she felt like he'd been looking at her for a bit longer than just a moment before he'd spoken.

Draco stood tall in some expensive black gettup through the mesh seats and railing, looking every inch the crowned Prince of Slytherin as he gloated upwards, "My _Father_'s got a box here. We're to sit next to the Minister himself! Hope you enjoy your _nosebleed_."

The odd thing was, as he prattled on and sneered up at them, his father brandishing his cane into Draco's chest to get him to shut up, the way he stared at her so intently, it was almost as if he was trying to garner her attention, for reasons other than to boast … but that was impossible. She inwardly scoffed at her naivete.

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry turned her away, walking with a protective hand on her back to catch up to the Weasleys.

_Malfoy, staring intently at me. Hermione, old girl, you truly are losing it._

**A/N: This was a little shorter, but there's more to come. I know where I want to go with this, so we're in for a bit of a ride, folks. Thank you so much for the reviews, they mean the world. I'll go back and re-edit Chapter 2, which made me cringe as I re-read the grammatical mistakes. Anyhoo, happy Memorial Day Weekend! Enjoy.**


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